The Mortal King
by cap red
Summary: Breaking the rules has consequences, unfortunately Jareth learnt that far too late. Stripped of his magic he finds shelter in the above, and starts on a path that will draw him into the conflict of the worst war the Wizarding World has ever seen.
1. A King's Punishment

AN: Ok, I was procrastinating on my work when I noticed this in my files section, and though I have way too many projects going on at one time, I thought it would be fun to post it. The beginning part at least will be all Labyrinth, but then it will go into a major crossover. I always thought the two worlds meshed really well. Contrary to what it might seem like in the beginning, this will not be a Sarah/Jareth story. For one, I'm not a fan of writing romance, and for another, I think that ship sailed. Plus, I always found it slightly disturbing that she was a child and he was immortal. It doesn't mean that Sarah won't play a part in it, just that romance won't be on the agenda.

AN2: I actually haven't watched the Labyrinth since I was a child, and so my vision of it will be slightly different to the norm. Since most of the story will take place aboveground, this doesn't really matter too much.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth or Harry Potter. I'm not making any money out of this, nor have I ever tried wishing myself away to the Goblins... actually the last one is true.

* * *

Jareth, the Goblin King sat, legged propped on the arm of his throne, watching as little creatures scurried about attempting to fix the room. I say attempting, because with the chickens, the fights, and the ale, they only succeeded in destroying the room even more. This may seem like an odd combination, but not when you consider that these creatures were goblins. Worse, these were Imps, tiny little creatures that delighted in mayhem and mischief. They were not cruel, but neither were they very intelligent. In fact they were downright dumb. Whilst Jareth, loved the little creatures as a source of amusement for him, in his current state of mind they were growing increasingly more annoying.

"Enough," he said quietly, in a voice little more than a whisper. The goblins stopped their mischief at once. They may not have heard him, but their magic certainly did, and as naughty and as mischievous as they were, they always listened to their King. As one they turned wide, inquiring eyes on the King, stopping mid motion, so that one was hanging upside down from a candelabrum whilst another was looking at the King with his head half way inside a chicken's beak... and these were the more normal positions.

He sighed deeply and stood up from the throne, moving towards the window. The little goblins scurried to get out of the way. The ones which were not fast enough got a kick to the side. The kick was half-hearted at best, and the imps in question noticed. Inside their tiny little brains they tried to work out why.

One little goblin decided to be brave. The smelly creature moved towards the King and tugged on his trouser. Jareth gazed down at the creature in question.

"Is King sad?" he asked.

Jareth turned away, not answering the question. He was tempted to sneer, but he just couldn't muster the effort. Yes, he was sad, devastated in fact. She had left him. She had gone back to her own world. He was entirely alone. He couldn't understand why. He had offered her everything and she had spat in his face.

"_Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave."_

He shook his head to clear the image of her strong, defiant face. Why couldn't she have accepted his offer? There was a scuffling sound behind him, and he turned just in time to see a goblin wiping his nose on his sleeve. All of them were still staring at him.

"I wish to be alone," he said to the watching group.

"Alone?"

"What's he want to be alone for?"

"Oooh, chicken."

The mumbled protests grew and Jareth found himself saying, "Please, just leave me alone."

The protests stopped and the goblins stared in stunned silence. The goblin King had said please. He had almost begged. Even their little minds noticed the seriousness of it all. They shared confused glances and slowly trudged out of the room. For once mischief was far from their minds. They were all concerned for their king.

Once outside the room, they looked around at each other, trying to think of something to do. Then one not so bright little blighter had a not so bright idea.

"Why don't we cheer him up? Let's get him the bestest chicken in the whole labyrinth."

This idea was met with great applause and all of the creatures went running off into the labyrinth in search of a chicken.

He turned around, looking at the empty room, a room that only hours ago had held her face. He had been so sure that she would fail... he shouldn't have been. That was why he loved her. She had been too strong, too beautiful.

He fell to the floor and clutched his knees to his chest. Something wet fell down his cheeks, and he put his hands to them, taking the wetness and licked his finger. Salty. Tears. He was crying. He hadn't cried in years. He stared in astonishment for a moment, and the tears continued to fall. Silently they coursed down his cheeks and try as he might he couldn't stop them. She was _gone_.

_Gone._

_Gone._

"_You have no power over me!"_

Outside clouds rapidly came over the labyrinth and it began to rain. Not a gentle rain, but a hard, pounding shower that was as fierce and painful as the thousand tiny stings aimed at his lifeless heart. He paid it no heed.

A gentle breeze burst through the room, tousling Jareth's hair and pulling at his clothes, till the wind touched his cheek, cupping it like a human hand in a gentle caress.

"_Why these tears?"_ said a voice, neither female nor male, but ringing with a gentle power.

Jareth said nothing.

"_You don't have to answer. I know. I know what you have lost."_

Jareth did look up at this, though he could see no body for this voice. Nor was there one, less you count the ever changing movement of the labyrinth as a body. He sighed bitterly.

"What can you know of my loss? My love is gone from me forever."

"_I know more than you think my child. I have seen many creatures love, and equally I have seen them lost. Yes she has gone from you, perhaps forever; this is no different to thousands of other similar tales."_

Jareth forgot his sadness as rage consumed him. "How dare you?" he spat, "She was different. I am different. I am no mere creature, scurrying about the place with no purpose. I am the Goblin King. I loved her, and I do not give my love easily."

"_No, but you give other things easily, don't you, My King?"_

A sudden fear pierced him as he took note of a new tone in the voice of the Labyrinth. Its words had a note of threat in them.

"What do you mean?"

The wind turned stronger and lifted him bodily into the air, before throwing him against the wall. He slammed hard against it, and the breath was knocked out of him, but he was not allowed to fall to the ground. Instead he was pinned to the wall, his feet dangling beneath him as he struggled.

"'_You can have everything that you want.' Have you forgotten the power of words Goblin King?"_

He breathed in deeply, but the air was choking him and he couldn't answer even as his mind grasped what the Labyrinth was saying.

"_You offered everything, even that which was not yours to give. If she had demanded me of you, you would have given me up without a second thought."_

The Labyrinth lessened its hold on Jareth enough for him to choke out, "No I didn't...I wouldn't have..."

The Labyrinth interrupted his protestations, _"But even that I could have forgiven you because in her character at least you judged rightly. She would not have demanded such of you... she is an honourable Champion, and will when the time is right and she fully grown in age and understanding make a fine defender of us. Yet you did worse than that, oh King."_

Jareth struggled to find in his memory what crime, so unforgivable he could have committed. What he could have done to enrage such an entity.

"_You broke the rules. You reordered time. You appeared in person. You interfered. You misused your magic in the most despicable of ways all in the name of such fleeting emotion as love."_

The air around him eased and he was lowered onto the floor. The air stroked his cheek in a gesture of love.

"_Oh, my child. You have done such wrong, and you know there are consequences for such crimes. You have abused the magic which is yours and so your punishment must be fitting. Your immortality, you shall keep. You shall not age, as mortals do. Your kingship too you will keep, for you are the Goblin King no matter your crime and I cannot undo that bond unless I cause madness and destruction to all who share in it, and your crimes are not worth that. But no more will you have any magic that you can access. No more will you have the protection that magic brings. You can get sick on mortal as well as magic illness. You will feel the cold and the heat as mortals do. You will no longer see that which is hidden and..."_ the Labyrinth seemed to hesitate, _"Though I will not severe our link, no more will you have the advantages that our joining brings. I will be as dangerous and unknown to you as to any other resident. I will not ease your way, but instead trick and confuse so that you will no longer underestimate me or my power."_

Jareth gasped as the Labyrinth pronounced its sentence. He whispered, "Why?"

"_You need to learn."_

"Will I ever get my magic back?"

"_Yes."_

"When?" Jareth asked in desperation.

"_When you have learnt your lesson."_

"And when will that be?"

"_Who knows? A year, a month, a decade?"_

The voice began to fade away and Jareth shouted out at it, "What lesson do I need to learn?"

There was a light laugh, "_You need to work that one out for yourself?"_

Then the Labyrinth was gone, leaving Jareth alone, slumped against the wall.

He waved his hand experimentally, but nothing appeared. He stared at his empty hands where a Chrystal ought to have been, but there was nothing there. He looked around at the messy throne room and waved his hand again, but nothing happened. The room did not tidy itself. He began to breathe heavily as he tried magic after magic with no success until at last he shouted out, "You can't do this me to me. I am your King!" and when there was not an answer or any change he broke down on the floor in gasping sobs that rang out through the room.


	2. A King's Tears

AN: Yeah, an update is out quickly. This is partially because like I said yesterday, I had this already nearly done sitting in my files, but also because I finally finished my enlightenment essay! Five AM, I finished and then I had to get up to submit it, so I decided to reward myself by not writing my NaNo, and instead posting a chapter of this.

Disclaimer: I don't own all the things that I said I didn't own in the last chapter, i.e. yesterday. (I can't believe it was only a day between chapters. That has to be a record for me!)

* * *

A pair of boots thumped loudly through the castle as its owner made its way towards the throne room. Goblins scurried to get out of the owner of the boots way and gazed with a mixture of respect and awe at him. And why shouldn't they? He was tall, by goblin standards, standing at 6ft 3, and he was well dressed in silk and metal and leather. He had a look of keen intelligence in his eye which was matched only by his strength. Strength he had tested time and time again on the battlefield, and he had the scars to prove it. He was Trygg, Commander of the Kings Guard. He was also a complete bastard, whose saving grace was his absolute loyalty and devotion to his King.

Trygg was on his way to see Jareth. He was actually on his way to complain. He felt he had the right to considering that the Imps were running riot through the Labyrinth and had been for the past three hours. They had already managed to completely dismantle three of the armouries, completely devastate the rooms where his men slept, somehow managed to tear down an oubliette (and lord knows how they managed that?), and were even now in the process of wrecking the obstacle course that he had spent days setting up.

Now Trygg wasn't an unreasonable Goblin. He understood that Imps would always be Imps and it was in there nature to destroy things, but when he had discovered that the Imps had destroyed dinner well, that was taking things too far. Why hadn't Jareth reined them in? He didn't have the answer but he was going to make the Goblin King put a stop to it, before they broke something irreplaceable.

Trygg reached the doors of the throne room, which were guarded by two of his own. They offered their salutes before one reached out and knocked firmly on the doors. There was no answer, but then there didn't need to be. The knock was more out of courtesy than anything else. The King could if he wish call out and bar entry, but it wasn't like the throne room was the Kings Privy Chamber and it was generally assumed that the King would be elsewhere if he didn't wish to receive visitors.

The door was held open for him by one of the guards and Trygg walked in. The first thing he noticed through the gloom of the room, was the complete disarray of it; Overturned barrels, chicken shit, feathers, straw, liquids that seeped and dripped and the reek of alcohol. Considering that the Imps had been absent from the room for several hours, there was no excuse for its state. The second thing that Trygg noticed was that the King was not on his throne.

There was a gasping noise from the other side of the room and Trygg whirled around, hand going to the hilt of his sword. What he saw shocked him for there was Jareth, sitting, head in hands on the floor, surrounded by squalor. There was clear evidence of tears on his face and choking, rasping sobs escaped from him. His whole body shook with every tear, and it was clear that he was completely unaware of both his surroundings and Trygg's presence in the room.

Trygg shifted uncomfortably, all thoughts of complaint gone far from his mind. He eyed the door behind him, wondering if he should just leave. The King would not want anyone witnessing his breakdown, and Trygg was feeling tremendously guilty intruding on him. He wanted to help him, but he was acutely aware that he probably wasn't the best suited for the task. He thought that he should just leave, but then, how would he stop others from intruding on the Kings privacy. He couldn't tell the guards that the King was crying. Jareth would be mortified if that got out, and it was Trygg's job to protect the Kings dignity and name as well as his person. He eyed Jareth on the floor, and then the door again. Maybe he could sneak out, dismiss the guards and stand watch himself, or maybe he could stay inside and hope that Jareth wouldn't notice him, until he had composed himself. The guards wouldn't let anyone in so long as they thought that Jareth was in a meeting. But how would he explain himself at the end? He eyed the door again and made his way towards the door but stopped. His hesitation cost him, as he chanced to look back at the King just as Jareth raised his head.

For a moment their eyes locked, Trygg's hand inched away from the door, and Trygg could see the depths of pain and suffering that Jareth was feeling, before a cool mask drew over his face. It was an ineffective disguise as his face was still blotchy and there were tracks from his tears, and both of them knew it.

Jareth was horrified when he noticed his surly guard standing at the door. Horrified and embarrassed. He was the all powerful Goblin King. He didn't cry, at such things like losing his...

He quickly cut off that train of thought as tears began to well in his eyes again. He tried to put on a cool veneer, although he could see that Trygg wasn't fooled for a second.

Not bothering to get up, as if sitting amongst filth was the most normal of consequences, he said, "Was there a reason you came here, Captain?"

He winced. He intended his voice to sound somewhat threatening. Instead, all that came out was a weak, rasp. Where was the power of illusion gone...oh, right.

Trygg, knowing he was caught, stepped further into the room and offered his King a bow. If Jareth was going to pretend that nothing was wrong, then who was he to say otherwise? It wasn't as if he was good at comforting someone anyway. No, he resolved to put it firmly out of his mind.

It was much harder to do this, when he looked at Jareth and could see the carefully disguised evidence of his grief.

"The Imps, Your Majesty, have got out of hand. I'd like you to do something about them, if it pleases Your Majesty of course." The last part was added on hastily, as if he needed to remind himself that he couldn't order the King about like one of his underlings.

The King nodded and got to his feet, wiping his knees as he did so. He only succeeded in spreading the dirt and then looking at his dirty clothes in dismay. Trygg wondered why he didn't just use magic to fix it.

Jareth meanwhile was faced with a problem. He couldn't tell anyone that he didn't have any magic. He'd be helpless, defenceless. His subjects were only loyal out of fear. The moment they realised he couldn't do anything to him anymore they would turn on him. Likely enough, he would be tossed into the bog of eternal stench, and as reliant on his magic as he was, he wouldn't be able to stop them. No he would not allow that to happen. He would just have to keep it secret, starting with Trygg.

Trygg meanwhile was eyeing Jareth carefully and against his own decision he found himself asking, "are you alright Sire?"

Jareth glanced at him and smiled weakly, and Trygg wondered when he had become so bad at hiding his feelings, "I'm fine, Trygg."

Trygg nodded slowly. Well he tried, if the King was going to continue to deny that anything was wrong he wasn't going to say anything. He'd done his duty.


	3. A Captain's Worries

AN: I've got to warn you, that these fast updates are not the norm for me. I just thought that it would be fair for me to say so.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth...or Harry Potter

* * *

Trygg, Captain of the Kings Royal Guard, Councillor of the Realm and Knight of the Underground was worried. Strictly speaking he was worried about his King. Jareth, King of the Goblins, had been acting strangely to say the least. Now, some might say that he had no need to worry, that he was seeing things and everything was alright, but Trygg was not one to give in to needless worrying; Quite the opposite in fact. He was an intelligent individual who always looked at things through a detached eye, and his detached eye (currently sitting on a corner of his desk) said that the King was acting in a very peculiar manner. Others may not see it, may even see each incident as an isolated event, but Trygg didn't. There had been far too many incidents to think that and Trygg knew about all of them. He had to. The Kings safety was his primary concern, everything else was second to that. Trygg took his responsibility very seriously.

He walked over to the window in his office, overlooking the Labyrinth and watched the hustle and bustle beneath him before turning in a huff and sank into his office chair. Quite frankly he didn't know what to do. It was not his place to question the King, but something was obviously wrong. Something had been wrong since that _girl_ had been here almost a month ago.

He wanted to blame the girl, but something was telling him that the Kings attitude was not the girl's fault. True the King had been... upset when the girl had left. Trygg had had the misfortune of being the one to witness the King's breakdown. The event had been mortifying to say the least for the King, but at least it had happened in relative privacy and Trygg took his King's privacy very seriously indeed. Still, the inexplicable change in behaviour did not seem quite right. He didn't seem upset, just different.

There was a knock at the door and Trygg barked out an invitation to enter. A young soldier under his command marched in and gave Trygg a smart salute, before standing at attention. Trygg would have grinned at the respect were he not so worried. Instead he gave a command for the soldier to be at ease and report.

"Sir, His Majesty the King has been located."

Trygg nodded in silent relief. The King had been missing for the past day.

"Where was His Majesty?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"In an Oubliette, Sir."

Trygg gaped. What in the hell was he doing down there? His disbelief must have shown on his face because Trygg said, "His Majesty claims that he was conducting an inspection of them, Sir."

Trygg snorted, and the young soldier took that as an invitation to continue, "Sir, may I be frank with you?"

Trygg nodded his assent.

"I do not believe His Majesty. I was one of the ones who found him and His Majesty looked distinctly relieved to see us." He paused.

Trygg tapped the desk and said lightly, "are you accusing the King of lying."

The soldier gulped before straightening, "Yes Sir, I am." His voice trembled even as he said that.

Trygg suppressed a smile. Ordinarily he would have been furious at such aspersions on the Kings character, but seeing as it was so blatantly true he was rather proud that the soldier had the guts to say so. "I agree with you."

The soldier looked shocked, but Trygg carried on before he had the chance to say anything, "But, I caution you to not say so to anyone else. The council is working on the issue. It would be best if you carry on your duties as normal. If I find that rumours are going around..."

The soldier couldn't hold in a snort, and Trygg's lips curled into a snarl. The soldier hurriedly explained himself, "With all due respect, Sir. There are already rumours going around. People are saying that the King is beginning to lose his mind."

Trygg wanted to refute that statement and adamantly, but he couldn't because the exact same thought had crossed _his_ mind. There was an awkward silence before Trygg started shuffling papers on his desk. "Well," he said, gruffly, "Like I said, the council is dealing with it."

The soldier did not look reassured but recognising a dismissal, he snapped his heals together and departed. Trygg buried his face in his hands.


	4. A King's Mistake

AN: Another chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth or Harry Potter. I'm just a poor student...

* * *

The wind howled, huge storm clouds swirled grey and blocked out the moon completely, and the streets were covered half a door deep in snow. In the morning little goblin children (and imps) would awaken to the great excitement of discovering a clear blue morning, and a labyrinth painted white. The evening though was a different matter. Shutters rattled and slammed, lights went out, and outside the air was thick with icy droplets that entered into the eyes, nose and mouths of any who were attempting to get home from a very late night of drunken revelry. Those poor fools would eventually give up trying to find their own homes and seek shelter somewhere else, when the vision was so dim, that even if they went cross eyed they would not be able to see the tip of their own nose.

Inside his Chambers Jareth was shivering. His windows were tightly shut, and covered with heavy purple drapes. He was lying beneath several layers of his thickest blankets and was wearing his warmest nightwear. Yet, the bitter wind somehow managed to make its way into the bedroom, chilling the stone walls. Jareth, who was not used to feeling the weather as strongly as other people, was so cold that his feet had gone numb, and his hands were rapidly heading the same way. There was a fireplace, a huge renaissance one. Its mantle took up half the wall, and it reached the ceiling. Yet the fire within had long since burnt out, leaving nothing but ash.

Jareth opened his eyes, giving up on trying to sleep and glared at the empty fireplace, willing it to light. Of course it didn't but that didn't stop him from trying. He tried to burrow himself further into the blankets and wondered whether it was worth leaving their minimal protection to get another one, before remembering that he had taken the last in his rooms a half hour before, and if he wanted another he would have to request one. Then the guards outside would probably think he was sick, because he had never needed that many blankets before, or they would wonder why he didn't just magic one. Neither was something that Jareth wanted to happen.

It was his fault really that it was so cold. He was miserable, and because his link wasn't severed with the Labyrinth his moods controlled the weather. It had nothing at all to do with the amount of magic he had, but what his mood was. When he had first lost his magic, the weather had spent a near week in a constant downpour. Then when he had become somewhat resigned to it, but still not happy, it had lessened to mainly cloudy days, with the occasional bits of rain when he was alone, or the even rarer sunny spells when the imps somehow managed to cheer him up with their antics. But a month later, and no sign of his magic returning his mood had suddenly taken a turn for the worse culminating in a terrible snow storm. The fact that the snow storm was making him so cold did not do anything at all to improve his mood, and whilst he could recognise on some level that if he just cheered up the weather would change, it proved impossible to put that thought into action. So the colder he got, the more miserable he got, and the less likely it was for the weather to get better.

Jareth glared at the fireplace again and contemplated summoning a maid to light it, before dismissing that thought for the same reasons he had decided against ordering another blanket. Plus, it was so late at night that getting someone out of bed to do a chore that he (if he had magic) could do with a wave of his hand, would probably not endear him to his subjects and would probably raise suspicion in their minds. Yet, he could not lie freezing all night or else he really would get sick, so he decided to try and light the fire himself. After all, his goblins did it all the time. How hard could it be?

Gathering his courage he lifted the blankets, immediately feeling the cold air on his ankles and legs as the cold took advantage of the sudden lack of protection to seep underneath his nightshirt. He stepped onto the (also purple) rugs, which lined the entire floor. He was thankful that there were rugs there, because they did offer slight protection against the otherwise freezing floor. Nevertheless he practically ran across to where his groom had lain his night robe the night before, and quickly shrugged into it, tying it as tight as he could around his waist and hugging his body in feeble protection.

He looked at the fireplace, the pile of wood next to it, and the golden instruments that the servants used to breathe life into the fire in confusion. What was he supposed to do?

Well, there was no use standing around doing nothing. He quickly had a pile of logs set in the middle of the fireplace, but he knew from observation that that was not all that was needed. He looked around, and soon spotted a box full of shavings of wood and small scraps of wool. He shrugged before scattering them. He didn't know how much was needed so he guessed and hoped that there was enough, and not too much, although he had considered briefly using the whole box – just to be sure – before deciding that was probably a bad idea.

Feeling rather proud of himself, he now faced the problem of how to light the thing. It took him a few minutes of searching before he noticed that there was a small grey rock sitting next to a piece of metal. He wasn't certain but he was pretty sure that he had seen the servants striking the rock against the metal. He was starting to wish that he had paid a bit more attention to the servants' activities because then he wouldn't be in this predicament. Of course he would never have guessed that he would be in a situation where he couldn't use magic. He growled, and struck the stone against the metal.

Nothing happened.

He frowned. He had been sure.... Maybe there was a trick to it?

He tried again, tilting his hand slightly so when it rubbed against the metal, it left the edge with a slight flick.

Nothing happened.

It didn't occur to Jareth that he needed to strike it harder, because fearful of doing something wrong he had been rather tame and lacklustre in his actions. He tried and tried again, growing increasingly more agitated as he spent longer in the cold with no lovely fire to warm him. The more frustrated he grew the more wild his movements, and soon he wasn't paying attention to where he was pointing the damned piece of metal, only on getting a single spark out of it.

It just so happened, and rather unfortunately at that, that he was aiming at quite possibly the worst direction when he finally grew angry enough to put the right amount of force on the strike, causing sparks to fly off the end... and land, not in the fireplace but on a low stool, where he had negligently put the box of tinder.

It started to smoulder within seconds, and then burst into full on flame. Jareth stared in aghast shock before running forward to put the fire out before anything else caught alight.

It just so happened though, that the rugs had been cleaned the day before, and the young goblin that did the cleaning had been rather careless in putting the room back together properly. So instead of managing to put out the fire before any harm could be done, he accidentally tripped over the corner of one of the rugs and went flying, knocking over the stool as he went.

The tinder scattered, little beads of flame landing everywhere on the beautiful rugs. They quickly caught, and the fire rapidly devoured them edging in the cool breeze towards the windows, and walls where tapestries and curtains hung touching the ground. In just a few seconds those too were ablaze and Jareth found himself surrounded by an inferno. The fire leaped from material to material quickly, hungrily spreading upwards until it was licking the ceiling. The air grew thick with smoke, and the stench of burning wool, and Jareth could only lie there in horror as his room was consumed.

The door burst open, and the fire happily gained new energy from the sudden source of wind, dancing eagerly towards the exit, where the two goblin guards who had been alerted to the danger by the sudden heat and the cackling and hissing noise and the smell and the smoke, which crept under the crack in the door, stood gawking in disbelief.

Then their senses came to them, and though they only had limited magic they used it to their full, quickly summoning into the room a cloud of water, which in one movement dropped its load, drenching its inhabitants and quenching the fire.

The two goblin guards stared at their King, who sat, dripping on the floor, doing his very best to avoid their gazes.


	5. A King's Fall

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth or Harry Potter.

* * *

Jareth met Trygg early the next morning in order to conduct an inspection of the Labyrinth defences. He had met him in his throne room, but in order to get there he'd had to walk from the guest chambers he had spent the rest of the night in. The guards had questioned him over the beginnings of the fire, and Jareth had shrugged and smirked, before saying that the room's decor was annoying him. The guards were incredulous even though Jareth was a capricious King and if he had not been behaving so oddly over the previous weeks they would have believed him without a second thought. But the guards had left it, knowing that they could not order the King to explain anything. Instead they'd had another room prepared for him and Jareth hoped that would be the end of that.

Of course by morning the entire city knew about his night time mishap and Jareth had to contend with walking through busy corridors where voices grew conspicuously silent as soon as he was within earshot. As soon as he was out of sight there would be a welling up of voices, coupled with hastily muffled laughter. Jareth held his head up high, determined to make like nothing was wrong at all. He probably wasn't very successful.

After greeting Trygg (and receiving a questioning glare, which Jareth did his best to ignore) they made their way outside and into the Labyrinth proper.

Jareth decided to break protocol and insisted that Trygg walk in front of him. Every time Jareth had entered the Labyrinth something had gone wrong. Jareth thought that if he followed Trygg exactly then he would be safe from the Labyrinth's tricks. Trygg followed his orders but not without another suspicious glare. Jareth thought that he might have to find a way to get Trygg off the trail before he stumbled across the truth of the matter.

Trygg meanwhile was deep in thought, even as he pointed out all the new defences that he had recently implemented to his King. Jareth's actions were becoming dangerous. He could have burnt down the entire castle the night before with his thoughtless behaviour. He didn't know what the King was thinking. He didn't know what he could do about it either. The King was the King and any power that he might have was derived from the Grace of the King. As long as the King continued to be so secretive he couldn't do anything.

Well, he could confront the King. He had been reluctant to do so because the King's business was his own, but the situation meant that he might not have any choice. He paused in his report and turned around intending to speak to the King.

He blinked and then swore...loudly.

The King was gone.

* * *

_Falling._

_Falling._

_Falling._

The land rushed up beside him, as he desperately tried to right himself, transform, anything to stop his rapid descent. Leaves and vines that grew on the side of the narrow, dark tunnel clung to him and he tried to cling to them, but they broke and snapped beneath his gloved hands and did nothing to stop or even slow him down. He clawed at the walls and rocks and pebbles fell in a cloud of dust and rubble around him. Shoulders bumped against the walls painfully and his clothes tore leaving bloody scratches on his legs, arms, face and torso, and still he fell.

Then the tunnel levelled out and there was a shaft of light and he was sent flying through the air. He let out a loud, piercing scream and then he hit the dirt... hard, and he was rolling downwards, unable to stop his momentum from the fall; little rocks and thorny plants and nettles stinging his side and drawing his blood. He heard, rather than felt an ominous crack.

Then there was a cliff and he was over it and with one desperate thrust he threw out his hand and grabbed and luck was with him. He got a hold and his movement was stopped with a jarring tug. Beneath him, a single boot, ripped cleanly down the side, fell from his foot and into the marshy waters below him. The boot sizzled as it hit and the water let out a belch as it bubbled beneath him. The mist hung, low above it, holding an unmistakable, rank stink.

It was the Bog of Eternal Stench and Jareth had only narrowly escaped its clutches.

Breathing heavily (or as heavily as he dared without the risk of throwing up), he tried to heave himself up, but as he swung his other arm above his head, a searing pain shot up his side, almost making him lose his tentative hold on the wall, and thus send him into the murky depths below. He didn't lose his grip, barely, but he couldn't resist the yell of pain that erupted from him.

"Well, look what we have here. In a spot of trouble, Rat?"

Jareth, whose eyes had been clenched shut as he tried to control the pain, opened them with a snap. He would recognise that voice anywhere, and he was right, for standing above him with a strangely pleased expression on his unusually ugly face was Hoggle.

He pasted a smile on his face, and said with more confidence then he felt, "Hogwart, excellent. Help me up."

Hoggle smirked down at him, "Why don't you just magic yourself up?"

Jareth dropped the smile and scowled, "Never mind that, just give me a hand."

Hoggle went down to his knees, and for a moment Jareth thought that Hoggle was going to do what he said. He leant in close, looked in Jareth's eyes and then... he laughed. He laughed loudly and fell backwards away from Jareth.

"I don't believe it." He gasped, "I don't believe it. I'd heard the rumours, same as everyone else. I heard about all the odd things that have happened; the doors that won't open for you, the ones that lie and trick you, your time in the oubliette and setting fire to yourself, but now I see. Now I know why, and it's so... You can't, can you? You've lost your magic and now you're stuck and you want me to save you."

He laughed harder and Jareth pale with anger and pain snapped at him, "Will you help me or not?"

Hoggle stopped laughing instantly, "No, I won't help you. If you're lucky someone else will come across you, though I doubt that very much. If not, you can't hang on indefinitely and then you will be the true Prince of the Land of Stench."

And suddenly Jareth remembered. He remembered why Hoggle was here in the first place. He had been banished here for his treason. A very tame punishment but Hoggle clearly didn't see it that way. He should have realised just how merciful he was being. He could have had him sentenced to death or worse exiled, (and for a Dwarf who was in the Labyrinth for its protection, exile really was a fate worse than death), but he hadn't. He had admired the Dwarf, as poorly as he had shown it, and so he had transmuted the punishment demanded by his council. The banishment was only for a period of five years and more than that, though Hoggle had obviously not realised it, it came with a lifelong, hereditary appointment. Hoggle thought that the title had been merely a mock, but Jareth had been completely serious and created him a prince. A prince who after his punishment was over, would be his voice for the entirety of the Bog Lands (an extensive holding to be sure) and thus entrusted with the responsibility of those sent there for punishment. It was a lofty position to be sure...

And Hoggle was throwing it in his face.

"You can't do that!"

"I can and I will. It's cruel how you treated me, for sticking up for what is right and all and now you will get what you deserve. Soon you'll smell as rotten on the outside as you are on the inside. Goodbye Your Majesty."

He got up, and walked off several places.

"Hoggle please!" Jareth shouted after him.

Hoggle froze, his shoulders tensed and he whirled around. Something in his expression had changed although Jareth wasn't sure quite what.

"You called me by my name. Why?"

Jareth pleaded desperately, "Because I respect you, and you want to be called by your proper name. So please help me?"

Hoggle snorted, "If you respected me so much you wouldn't have sent me here. I am not going to fall for your tricks."

He went to leave again and Jareth had enough, "You fool! You utter, complete, miserable fool! Your so called punishment has made you a prince and a wealthy one at that and you're so ungrateful because of five years of rightfully earned banishment that you are willing to let me, your liege lord and king fall! You disgust me."

Hoggle had stopped again and stared at Jareth in shock, "I'm actually a prince?"

Jareth nodded his head, the exhaustion from his tirade and trying to cling on to the wall as his feet dangled uselessly below, made him too weary to do anything else. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Hoggle as he walked away; not wanting to bear the knowledge that Hoggle was going to leave him to such a miserable fate.

Hoggle had no such intention. Truthfully, he never had that intention. He just wanted to make Jareth suffer for a bit, see him humble and fearful for once in his life; be the one to make him humble and fearful as Jareth had done to him so many times, but he realised he had gone too far. In fact once he had seen Jareth humble and scared he had felt incredibly guilty. He had not _liked _seeing Jareth that way and he had not liked making him that way. With the revelation of what Jareth had done for him coming out he felt like a complete wretch. When he saw Jareth so obviously defeated he felt the smallest he had ever been in his life. He made his decision.

Jareth opened his eyes in shock as a hand smaller and rougher than his own took his bare hand (the glove having fallen off during the roll down the hill), and began to pull him up. With one hand holding his hand and the other the top of his tunic (making it ride up almost over his head and reveal a pale, well muscled back, and a little bit of backside, his trousers having slid down as he tumbled), Hoggle was able to pull Jareth up, ignoring the whimpers and gasps of pain that escaped from Jareth's mouth.

Once on solid ground, Jareth collapsed against a large boulder which, he considered absently, it was lucky he hadn't hit on the way down and Hoggle threw himself next to him sweating and tired from the exertion of getting Jareth to safety.

After a few moments of silence as they struggled to get their breath back, Hoggle got out a skin, full of fresh, clean, sweet smelling water and took several long gulps, before handing it to Jareth. Jareth accepted it, with a "Thanks Hogsmear" which had Hoggle rolling his eyes, but coughed and grimaced as it went down and Hoggle could see him clutching his side in vain. Hoggle was not a healer by any stretch of the imagination and so knew it was no use asking to see the Kings injuries because he wouldn't be able to do anything about them. Even so, he wasn't an idiot and by the pain that Jareth was in, Hoggle could guess that the Kings ribs were broken or at the very least bruised and another wave of guilt washed through him.

He also realised something else and he said it without thinking.

"You'll have to leave."

Jareth snorted, "Trust me, I have every intention of leaving this stench as soon as I am able."

Hoggle shook his head and knew he had to continue on, having started already, "Not that, I mean obviously you'll leave the bog as soon as I've got yer a healer an' all, cos obviously you aint walking anywhere with those ribs. But what I mean is you've got to leave the Labyrinth."

Jareth sat up straight and then hissed in pain, slumping against the boulder again, "What?"

Hoggle breathed in deeply, gathering his courage, "You've got to leave the Labyrinth. It aint safe for you here. Not anymore. You could die!"

Jareth shook his head mutely and Hoggle howled in frustration, "You're being an idiot. No don't look at me like that, you are! Even the smallest and dumbest of the creatures in the underground have magic and so they are safe enough, but you don't."

"The runners don't have any magic."

"The runners are watched constantly the entire time they are in the Labyrinth to make sure that they don't accidently kill themselves, which you know. You cannot be watched every second of every day. It is impossible."

"I can't leave!"

"Sure you can. You've got subjects aboveground. They will shelter you and you can rule from there for a while."

"And then what?" Jareth snapped, "If I leave, then people will know why. They will know that I have lost my magic and I... I am not loved. I will be killed in an instant. The only reason I have never been killed is because people fear me. No, it is best that I remain. I will die eventually, but not as quickly as if people knew I was without magic."

Hoggle almost drew back in shock. Jareth thought that his people hated him. Jareth thought that they wanted to kill him, that they _could_ kill him. Did he not realise that it was the opposite? Hoggle may have made him suffer a bit (something that he was almost willing to go into the bog because) but he would never contemplate seriously hurting the King, and he did not know anybody who would. Jareth may be subject to his whims and moods and he may be terribly unfair, but he had qualities that made him so much more than that. If he was unfair, then he was unfair to everyone equally, regardless of race or creature. For a place which was a refuge to the exiles and unwanted, this was a priceless quality in a ruler. If he was subject to his whims and moods then at least his citizens could be certain that most of the time his whims and moods were for the betterment of his people, because if there was one thing that everybody knew, it was this; Jareth loved his people. Despite his gruff moods and his tempers, Jareth was the Goblin King through and through. He could be as kind as he was cruel, he could be as patient as he was impatient, he could be proud and arrogant, but he was a _king_ and kings are meant to be all those things. His people didn't hate him. They loved him, and even if they didn't they still couldn't kill him, less they kill themselves in the process. Bonds between subject and liege as ancient as the Labyrinth itself would prevent it. Indeed, most subjects, the goblins (as natives of the land) most of all, would die before they let any harm come to the King. How could Jareth have forgotten that? Even if he doubted his subjects love for him, how could he doubt those bonds?"

Hoggle said as much to Jareth whose eyebrows rose and he asked in shock, "You remember the bonds?"

"Remember them? I can feel them. We all can feel them. Can't you?"

Jareth hesitantly shook his head, and Hoggle held back a gasp of dismay, at the thought of not being able to feel that sense of belonging and rightness that came from the bond.

"I could feel them, up until I lost my magic. I guess that they are still there because I am still the Goblin King, but you need magic to feel magical things. I don't have magic anymore so I can't feel them. I am surprised though that you all can feel it still. No one has given any indication that they can in two hundred years. I believed that the magic had faded on your side, because of your hate for me."

"We don't hate you, Sire. Despite what you might think, we don't hate you at all. If no one has mentioned the bond, it's probably because it is so common place that it would be like mentioning the colour of the sky... utterly pointless."

Jareth looked pensive, "Not pointless. It would have reassured me somewhat, but... it doesn't change my original point. I am not leaving the Labyrinth."

"Why not?"

"I am not letting anyone else know about my loss of magic."

"And how long do you think it will be before everyone finds out?"

Jareth glared, "Desist your argument. That is an order."

Hoggle took a deep breath, "No."

Jareth's eyes flashed, "You're disobeying me?"

"Yes. You are letting your pride get in the way of your safety. I cannot let you do that."

"It's not pride...it's, it's..."

"What?"

"It's my home all right." Jareth burst out and then flushed in embarrassment at his admittance. Hoggle struggled to hide his amusement and succeeded, but only because Jareth had buried his face in his hands.

"It's alright to be a little homesick Sire; perfectly natural."

Jareth heard the teasing note and glared. Hoggle hurried to reassure him, "Your Majesty. You will not be gone forever. Curses don't work like that. Your magic will return and then you can return, but until then..." he trailed off; unable to say anything he hadn't said already. It was up to Jareth to decide.

Jareth looked at Hoggle and then turned his head to look across the boggy landscape with a sigh. His shoulders slumped even more and with tired resignation he said, "I have to leave the Labyrinth."


	6. A Dwarf Searches

AN: I'm afraid that I am coming to the end of the pre-written stuff so updates will probably slow down. On saying that, I am on a bit of a roll at the moment.

Disclaimer: I don't own either Harry Potter or the Labyrinth. Maybe if I make a wish...

* * *

A short while later Hoggle was making his way out of the Bog in order to find the Kings Guard. He'd had to leave Jareth slumped alone and injured against the boulder because he was in no condition to walk or even move. Even so Hoggle had been reluctant to leave him by himself. He hoped that nothing would happen to the King in his absence but Jareth wasn't able to move from where he was sitting and that should reduce the likelihood of anything happening. Of course, just because it wasn't likely didn't mean it wasn't possible but Hoggle had no choice but to leave for help. Whilst people would be looking for the King, the Bog would be the _very_ last place anybody would look. Nobody went there willingly.

Still, alone as he was Hoggle was left to reflect on the Kings confession. Jareth could not have come to that conclusion on his own and so Hoggle could only surmise that they had done something to make him think that. In fact Hoggle could think of many times he had been cruel or disrespectful to Jareth. Moments before had been a prime example, but there were other, less obvious instances; things that Jareth had obviously picked up on and taken to heart.

And was that really their fault? Hoggle couldn't help but wonder. Jareth had been the way he had been for as long as he could remember, as long as his father and grandfather could remember as well by the looks of things. Hoggle had memories of sitting by the fire playing whilst his father and grandfather complained about 'that rat', a term that Hoggle had later picked up on and used.

So who had started the vicious cycle of casual cruelty that existed between the subjects and King who in truth loved each other? He didn't know, couldn't guess, couldn't even change the perceptions of the people around him, not unless Jareth changed how he acted, and he didn't think he would. Jareth had carefully woven a mask around himself and now that he was feeling even more weak and vulnerable than normal he was unlikely to let the mask drop and leave himself even more open to hurt.

But Hoggle could change his own actions. He would stop calling him 'Rat', stop insulting him; stop the cruelty on his side at least. Jareth wouldn't, probably even couldn't, but that wouldn't stop Hoggle. He had seen another side of Jareth, and now that he had he would do his best to bring that side out into the open. It was his duty to do so, for Hoggle did love Jareth even as he disliked him and he didn't want to dislike him anymore.

It was much easier to dislike the untouchable, arrogant Goblin King then the vulnerable man he had just seen.

Hoggle shook his head, dislodging the image of his pale face, his tightened jaw and eyes filled with pain and kicked a stone angrily. Where were the guards that should surely be roaming the Labyrinth in search of the King? So far he hadn't seen a single one and Hoggle didn't like leaving the King alone, defenceless and injured as he was. The last thing that Hoggle wanted to do would be to make his way all the way to the castle to find somebody, and he particularly wanted to get back before it got dark. The Labyrinth was a dangerous place whatever time of day, but it was even more dangerous at night. That wasn't a problem for those with magic, but there was a reason the runners only ran during the daylight hours. Time was reordered for them, just once because at night the creatures that made mortal tales and nightmares came out; creatures that could chill the blood. They crawled in the dirt, moved in the shadows, and they hated. All they did was hate, and mortals were their particular pleasures to torment, because they could not defend themselves against creatures of pure malice. They could not even see some of the creatures although other senses gave them away; the tingling of the spine, the sense of wrongness; the unnatural fear and despair; these were the mortals only clues; Jareth's only clues.

He had time though, sunset was hours away and he should find someone before then... and if he didn't... well, he could hope that the Bog's stench was enough to keep even those creatures away.

He smirked to himself and carried on.

* * *

"What do you mean? You can't possibly have searched everywhere! Have you tried an Oubliette?" Trygg shouted at the troops of goblins in front of him.

The spokesperson of the motley group of goblins shifted uncomfortably and said, "Yes Sir, that was the very first place we looked. Are you sure that His Majesty didn't just transform and all. He could have turned into his owl form and you just didn't see, because you weren't looking at His Majesty."

Trygg forced away the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Why was it he that had to deal with this particular breed of goblins? They were absolutely useless at even the most mundane task. Actually they were worse than useless and it was only because Jareth found them so amusing (for some indiscernible reason) that they were kept around. Thankfully he had other troops, more competent troops patrolling, but they had yet to report in.

"This is what you are going to do. You are going to keep searching. You are going to search all night if you have to. I don't care if you have to search all week, but you are going to find the King! Do you understand me?"

"Even if they understood they wouldn't be able to find him," said a voice from behind, and Trygg whirled around, his weapon at the ready.

A small distance away was Hoggle, looking both smug and annoyed. Trygg had a brief moment where he didn't know whether to bow or gut the traitor. He settled on an inborn caution. Trygg wasn't an idiot, and neither was Hoggle. Hoggle wouldn't leave his banished land except for a very good reason.

"Explain yourself!"

Hoggle smirked and explained, and Trygg felt the blood rush from his face as he heard where his King was, and what state he was in.


	7. A King is Summoned

AN: Just one more chapter after this and he should finally be going to the above.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the Labyrinth.

* * *

Whilst Hoggle was informing Trygg of Jareth's whereabouts, Jareth was getting, to put it lightly, bored. He was also getting nauseous. The urge to retch had less to do with the pain and more to do with the fact that he wasn't that far from the Bog, and the constant breeze that surrounded the Bog lands was wafting up the noxious fumes so that Jareth was quite sure that the odour would never leave him. It wasn't a smell one could become used to after a time either. It had a way of constantly changing to become more and more revolting the longer a person spent in its vicinity. Needless to say, Jareth had been there a while.

Jareth had tried to get up, shortly after Hoggle had left, determined that he would not spend another minute in the place. Unfortunately, when he tried he had almost stumbled right over the cliff and into the bog water itself. From then he had wisely decided that no matter how rank it was, he would have no choice but to wait for rescue.

He just hadn't realised how long it would take.

Jareth had tried to amuse himself. Unfortunately, completely by himself with no magic and unable to move without pain there was very little he could do.

For the past hour he had tried juggling a few rocks.

He wasn't very successful.

Dropping the rocks once again he sighed, and buried his head in his hands. In front of his subjects he had to wear a constant mask and it was draining on him. It was no wonder that he had let it slip just then. He just couldn't believe that he had let Hoggle of all people see how he was feeling. The ugly dwarf would never let him hear the end of it. Yet for all that he couldn't be upset that he had finally talked to someone. It felt good to be able to tell someone his problems. So often he had to bear the weight of it alone. He was the Goblin King, higher than all other Goblins, responsible for an entire Kingdom... and entirely isolated because of it. Talking to Hoggle just then, he hadn't felt alone, or different. He hadn't felt more important than Hoggle but instead he had felt like he could rely on someone. For the first time in his life he knew that he was entirely dependent on someone else, and that someone held power over him.

He hadn't especially liked not being in control, but at the same time not bearing the weight of responsibility had been good. It was a freedom he had never enjoyed. Well, not for a long time anyway. He'd never felt that he could depend on someone else, but now he had no choice but to. It wasn't easy. He didn't know if he could trust anyone enough to be so dependent on, but he also knew that there was no choice in the matter.

The sound of heavy footsteps tore him out of his musings and he quickly attempted a smile. It looked more like a grimace.

Around a corner came several Goblin Guards, Trygg and leading them Hoggle. It was good timing too; another half hour and it would be night. Jareth doubted that even the Bog would be able to protect him in the night.

Trygg gave him a once over, noticing at once the foot sans shoe, the multitude of cuts, bruises and bits of debris and his poorly disguised pained expression. He decided now was not the time to interrogate... that is question politely the King. His main priority was to get him back into the Castle and into the care of the healers; anything else was secondary to that.

He gestured impatiently to the two guards who were carrying a stretcher between them to aid the King, before realising belatedly that one did not touch the King without permission. Before they had a chance to lift him he hurriedly said, "With your permission, Your Majesty."

The King nodded his head, and he was seized by the armpits and ankles and dumped on the stretcher. Trygg winced and so did Jareth. The two goblins were clearly not of the gentle kind.

As they started to leave, Jareth suddenly held up his hand, and said a quiet 'Wait,' halting them immediately.

He turned his face towards Hoggle who had sat sullenly on the boulder. Hoggle looked up and at Jareth shocked that he was delaying leaving the Bog.

He and the others listened incredulously as Jareth said, "In honour of the services you have rendered to me, your banishment is lifted. You are free to leave the Bog lands"

Trygg started to protest before closing his mouth with a snap. He might dislike the cowardly dwarf, and he most certainly didn't get why Jareth respected him, but it wasn't his place to judge the King's decisions. He could grudgingly admit as well that Hoggle had performed loyal service to the crown. He still didn't think he had paid enough for his prior treason though.

Jareth could guess where his loyal captain's thoughts were and it amused him. He allowed a slight grin to spread across his features.

Hoggle also seemed to be a little less grumpy then normal as he happily followed them out of the Bog.

* * *

It didn't take long for the healers to patch him up. A quick spell and all of his bruises and cuts were gone and his ribs (which _were _broken) were healed. Unfortunately he was not as good as new. Magic healing worked best on beings with magic. Jareth had none so whilst he was mainly better he still felt a little bit stiff and sore, much like he had overstretched. It was easy enough to hide that minor discomfort though, and at least he didn't have to wear bandages.

The smell had also not lingered for which he was profoundly grateful.

He'd quickly settled back into routine, after being gently probed for answers which he had once again avoided. He had decided to be truthful and reveal his state to his council. The talk he'd had with Hoggle was fresh in his mind. He was completely and utterly resolved. Alas, it proved harder to follow through with that decision then he had thought it would. Hoggle had taken to giving him disapproving stares every time he had seen him. Jareth had told him quite firmly that he was just waiting for the right moment.

Hoggle had assumed (correctly) that Jareth was just a tad scared.

* * *

A week after the Bog incident was a very important day in Labyrinth tradition. It didn't happen often, and not at a fixed time, but nobody missed it when it did occur. It was a day when the doors of the castle were opened and all who could fit were invited into the throne room. Everyone of importance attended, the entire court in fact, representatives of every race and all were dressed in their best and most noble clothes and jewels. They mingled with commoners who (also dressed in their best, although notably of lesser value clothing) had been fortunate enough to be able to fit into the castle itself. The Guards and Soldiers turned out in full dress uniform, and lined the decorated halls looking both impressive and frightening.

In the streets, there was music and dancing, feasting and drinking, jousts and tournaments and an all out festive air, for all the rest who were not in the castle itself. Every creature in the domain celebrated.

It was the day when the people ceremoniously reaffirmed their vows and oaths of allegiance to the King.

It wasn't strictly necessary as the bonds between them could not be undone, but one of the nice things about royalty is all the pomp and ceremony surrounding them, and the people loved an excuse to witness said pomp and ceremony and get a party out of it.

By midmorning most of the imps were already soundly drunk.

* * *

Jareth (still in his guest chambers) had been woken early, and had eaten his breakfast as an elderly half dwarf, half goblin woman - who had served him as head of his household for fifteen years - watched with a critical eye as two goblins heaved buckets of steaming water into a large tub, which had been dragged into the centre of the room.

Two of his grooms stood in attendance over him waiting to assist with any task that he required. As soon as the bath was full he dismissed them all, knowing that the two grooms would be waiting outside to assist him with his dressing.

He then sat about to waiting...

And waiting...

The problem was that before he had liked his baths very hot. He still did in fact, but without his magic his body was simply unable to withstand the heat of the water that was prepared for him. He couldn't order the bath made colder because that would change the habit of a lifetime. So he had no choice but to wait for the temperature to reach a manageable level.

He had been doing the same trick since losing his magic (and burning his big toe, much to his chagrin), dismissing his grooms so that he could bathe privately (something that he normally did anyway), and then waiting for the water to cool. He knew that his grooms must be wondering why the length of time it took for him to bathe had increased so substantially.

He knew what day it was, but he also knew that the ceremony could not begin without him, and he was not prepared to attend without washing. It may have been fastidious but quite frankly he didn't care. He was known to be often late to events like these anyway.

After he had judged the water had cooled enough, he set about undressing before retrieving a yellow rubber duck. He would feel beyond mortified if anyone found out that he had that duck, but he was a goblin, and he did manifest traits of all the breeds. He was just thankful that the only impish trait that he had was a fondness for bath toys that squeaked. It could be worse; records showed that the last Goblin King (one which no living creature had memories of) had inherited the imps' fondness for chickens.

That King's reign had apparently been very short lived.

He put a single toe in the water, and breathed a sigh when he realised it was exactly the right temperature. He then stepped into the tub, and sank beneath the water allowing the stiffness in his mid-section to ease with a moan of relief. He poured a liberal amount of bath salts into the water and set to playing with his rubber duck.

* * *

Down in the throne room Trygg dressed in full ceremonial garb, with sword at his side and medals on his chest, was getting impatient. Everyone was ready and waiting to begin the ceremony. Everyone but Jareth that is, who for some reason was late. Trygg knew that the King was quite often late, but that did not mean he had to enjoy it. He hated the fact that so many unknowns were in the castle. It was a security nightmare and the sooner that the ceremony started, the sooner they would leave.

He scowled heavily as he looked around the filled room, and tried to look intimidating.

"What's got you all in a huff?" came a voice from behind him.

Trygg scowled even more and turned around to face Hoggle, who was not dressed any more finely than normal in contrast to everyone around him, except he was wearing a bright silver circlet on his head.

In deference to that circlet he nodded his head, but he was _not _going to bow. He had decided that he would bow to no one but Jareth himself. That would solve that pesky little problem on how to deal with the treacherous Prince of the Bog Lands.

"The King's not here," he said and then turned his head determined to ignore Hoggle.

Hoggle snorted, "'Course not. 'E's never anywhere on time. What d'ya expect?"

Trygg bristled to the (true) comment. How dare he comment on the King with such blasé disregard? He had no right. He was raised by the goodwill of the King alone and he showed not one ounce of gratitude.

Before he could respond Hoggle said with an air of nonchalance, "I bet he's forgot all about it."

Trygg was about to respond angrily before he spotted the clock on the wall. He was sure that the King had not forgotten the ceremony because Jareth loved a chance to show off and the ceremony was a great opportunity for that. But it was a bit beyond fashionably late. Perhaps he had lost track of the time?

He smirked and said condescendingly to Hoggle, "Then I guess I will just have to remind His Majesty. I'll just summon him, shall I?"

Hoggle had just enough time to widen his eyes in horror and shout out, "No!", but it was too late as Trygg had already sent a spark of summoning magic to the King.

Now for any being with magic, this spell wouldn't do much of anything. It is rather like a polite knock on the door, or someone calling your name. It just lets the person know that there is someone who wishes to see them, and tells where that person is. But someone with no magic has no resistance to the spell, and nothing that prevents them from feeling the full affects.

So it was that Jareth, sitting in his tub, covered in soap and holding that yellow duck in his hand, suddenly felt a large tug, before he was dumped unceremoniously, bare-arsed in the middle of the entire court.


	8. A King's Confession

AN: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the Labyrinth.

* * *

To say that complete pandemonium broke out would be an understatement. There had been a long, shocked silence which had almost immediately given way to a cacophony of noise and panic. The women had shrieked pretending to be outraged whilst sneaking peeks when their husbands and fathers weren't looking. The husbands and fathers had been genuinely outraged, bellowing and running about and covering the women's eyes. The soldiers had brandished swords at non-existent threats and cut down fine drapery, whilst the more sensible soldiers tried to restore some semblance of order by shouting contradictory commands on top of each other. The imps (already drunk, I must remind) thought it was all a fun game and started taking off their own clothes in imitation and squealing about rubber ducks and chickens whilst chasing each other up the walls and underneath peoples legs, and Sir Didymus's voice could be overheard through it all shouting something about 'honour' and 'dignity' and 'besmirching the King's good name'.

Through it all, Jareth tried desperately and futilely to cover himself with his hands, the rubber duck abandoned on the floor where it was trod under the heel of a goblin woman's foot, with a loud squeak.

Only Trygg managed to keep his head, although it did take a moment for him to get over the shock of seeing his King appear in such a state. He seized a woman and tore off her long, sweeping, hooded cloak and threw the material over the King, covering him from sight, the woman shouting a 'do you mind!' in a high pitched screech. Then he had grabbed Hoggle (who had been rolling on the ground, crying with laughter) and had him drag the shell shocked Jareth out of the room.

Then he set to restoring order and clearing the castle. The celebration was over. There would be no reaffirming of vows now. The ceremony was ruined. Jareth was humiliated and disgraced and Trygg knew that it could not go on anymore. Action would have to be taken.

* * *

Jareth sat in a hastily retrieved dressing robe, staring at the wall in the great council chambers, doing his best not to look at the watching members of his council. He knew that if he did look at them he would not be able to help the spread of heat to his cheeks. They had all been present not ten minutes before when he had appeared so unexpectedly before them. They had all witnessed his shame.

Someone coughed and his eyes of their own violation went towards the noise. His face began to burn immediately but to his surprise he saw concern and not poorly disguised mocking. He knew that the time to talk had long since gone and that his silence had done harm. He opened his mouth, but the words were chocked in his throat. He couldn't say it. Humiliated as he was, he still couldn't say that he had lost his magic.

He opened his mouth again but all that came out was a soft spoken, "I am thirsty," which was not what he intended to say at all. Nonetheless the goblin to his right immediately poured a goblet of fine, red wine.

He swirled it around for a second before drinking. It was dry, flavoursome with a hint of cinnamon and thick. Jareth drank it like it was water, downing it in several deep gulps, a thin trickle leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

There was another silence.

Then there was a knock at the door and Trygg entered closely followed by a Dwarf in a white coat, carrying a satchel on his back, and with a belt of vials around his waist. They both bowed to Jareth before proceeding into the room.

The Dwarf stared at Jareth with undisguised curiosity but Trygg like the other councillors only looked concerned.

It was Aksel who broke the silence. He was an old goblin, uglier than most with skin that sagged off his bones and muscles which had withered from long disuse. But he was clever and wise from long years of experience. Most of the goblins had never known another head of the council.

"Your Majesty," he wheezed out slowly.

Jareth acknowledged him with a nod of his head. His bare toes curled beneath the table.

"This is healer Nanne. He is here to examine you, with Your Majesty's permission."

The healer placed his satchel on the floor and gave another bow.

Next to Jareth, the head of agriculture Anker shifted uncomfortably. Jareth felt a tightening in his chest and he had to control the urge to lift up his knees and hug them to his chest. Instead he attempted a smile.

"I am afraid, Nanne that your services will not be required. I do not need a healer."

Nanne smiled and bowed but he made no move to leave. Jareth frowned at him, but was distracted by Aksel coughing and spluttering but shuffling his way around from the other end of the table, his gnarled hand clutching a walking stick.

He stopped right in front of where Jareth was sat, and peered at him closely from behind thick-lensed glasses. Jareth stifled the urge to squirm underneath the gaze. Then one of the gnarled hands was placed on his shoulder.

There was a gasp at the breach in protocol and Jareth felt even more uncomfortable as Aksel continued his examination. He did not say anything though, not even something snide or sarcastic. His mouth was dry and all he could do was gulp... once... audibly.

Aksel spoke softly but in the silence everyone could here clearly.

"Your Majesty," came the soft, wheeze, "If you are (cough, splutter) unwell, than there are potions and remedies to deal with it. If you would just trust us to aid you. We will not break your confidences."

Jareth couldn't look away from the earnest, old face and his response came almost as a whisper. "I am in good health."

Aksel bowed his head slightly and said gently, "of the body perhaps."

This time Jareth could not restrain himself. He drew back sharply with a hiss of breath and said in horror, "You think I am insane."

Many in the council shifted uncomfortably but Aksel continued on in his soft, wheezy voice, "There are remedies and potions for most diseases of the mind, Your Majesty. We can control whatever it is that is ailing you."

Jareth stood up abruptly, backing away from the councillor, feeling trapped, feeling all the eyes on him and knowing that they thought that he was out of his mind. "I am not insane!" he shouted. They didn't believe him.

Trygg snorted. "You just appeared in front of the entire court in one of the most important celebrations in nothing but your skin," he said pointedly.

"I couldn't help it," Jareth protested.

Aksel nodded knowingly. "Exactly, Your Majesty. You couldn't help it. If you were in control of your reason you would never have appeared so. Nanne can help you, if you would let him."

Nanne was pulling out of his belt now a long needle filled with sedative. If Jareth could not be reasoned with then they would have no choice but to help him despite his wishes. Panicked, Jareth backed up. He knocked over his chair and fell to the floor. He held up his arms keeping at bay the goblins that went to help him up as Nanne advanced. His eyes were wide and his breath quickened in his panic.

It was Hoggle, the newest of his councillors who came to his aid.

"Stop!" he shouted, "Stop, he's not insane."

The goblins did stop their advance, and turned quizzical eyes on Hoggle who was standing on his chair. Hoggle jumped down and went round the table to Jareth and helped him to his feet, dusting him off. Jareth noted that his robe had come loose in his struggle and so turned to face the wall so that he could retie it in relative privacy and conserve what remained of his modesty. It also gave him a moment to compose himself. How could he have lost control of the situation like that? How could he have panicked? Losing his magic made him feel so weak and defenceless but he needed to stop acting weak and defenceless. He was a King.

He took a deep breath and turned around.

"Thank you, Hoggle," he acknowledged and Hoggle gave a bow. He then straightened his back, doing his best to act like his earlier panic hadn't happened and said slowly and deliberately to his council. "I am not insane. I did not mean to appear so before. I could not help it. I could not physically help it."

He hoped that would be enough and that they would work it out but all that happened was the council shared confused looks.

"How could you not physically help it, Your Majesty?" Trygg asked.

"The moment I felt the summoning magic... I...I had no choice but to respond," he said, still not able to say the words.

"Why? It was just a summoning spell. Has your magic being acting oddly, Your Majesty? Is there something wrong with it?" Trygg asked in confusion. Nanne looked eagerly at his healing supplies, thinking that there was something wrong after all.

"No," Jareth said slowly. "It has not been acting oddly..."

The council leaned forward, and there was a tingling in the room. They sensed they were on the crux of the matter.

Jareth felt his resolve shaking. He almost felt it would be better to be thought insane then to admit to it. He couldn't say it. He hoped that the others would have guessed, but they hadn't. He couldn't do it... he... he...

He caught sight of Hoggle, who nodded at him. He remembered that Hoggle had accepted him and been worried for him. Hoggle who always called him rat still remembered the bonds between subject and King. He remembered that he was a King and he wouldn't run anymore.

"My magic hasn't been acting oddly."

He straightened up and stared regally across the room.

"I have lost my magic."


	9. The King Tells All

AN: Alright then, this is the last chapter of a purely underground nature. Next chapter is on to the above and the crossover stuff will finally begin.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth or Harry Potter

* * *

There was a long silence, during which time Nanne once again reached for the needle and began tapping it in anticipation. The rest of the council shared bemused looks and as one, decided to humour him for the moment. The very idea that the all powerful Goblin King was without his magic was laughable. Jareth was not oblivious to their exchange but stood, feigning impassiveness, knowing that he had to convince them of the truth. If he didn't, he might find himself locked up, drugged up to his teeth and completely insensible in truth.

"How could you _lose _your magic?" Polk, who was from a particularly cruel race of goblins, asked with a barely suppressed mocking grin.

Jareth glared disdainfully at him and Polk squirmed in his seat. Jareth grinned inwardly and sat down in his chair. Slowly, the rest of the Council regained their seats. Jareth waited until he had their full attention before telling the story.

Whilst most of the Labyrinth's inhabitants were not unaware of Jareth's peculiar link with their home, they were not aware of the Labyrinth's own sentience and power. Jareth was the Labyrinth's King in both senses. It owned him and he ruled it. The Council were aware of this link and so were only mildly surprised when Jareth mentioned the Labyrinth speaking to him.

Jareth told them how his loss of magic was the Labyrinth's punishment to him for breaking the rules. He did not say what the rule was or how he did it. He was not willing to let them that far into his private thoughts. Nevertheless the Council guessed that for the Labyrinth to interfere like that, Jareth must have jeopardised their relationship in some way.

When he was finished, the mood in the chamber had changed.

Aksel took a deep breath and wheezed out in almost a whisper "Is it permanent?"

Jareth shook his head, "No, it is not."

Trygg looked up, his face hard and determined, "Then what must we do? I will go to the end of the world if I have to, to regain Your Majesty's magic. I am at your disposal."

There was a murmuring of agreement around the table and even surly Polk agreed. Jareth almost smiled at the show of loyalty.

Instead he forestalled them by saying, "There is nothing that you can do. I will regain my magic when I have learnt a lesson. I just have no idea what that lesson is."

Aksel nodded wisely and knowingly, "That is always the way of these things, Your Majesty."

Jareth suppressed a smirk because of course; Aksel had no clue as to what he was talking about.

"What are we going to do about it then?" Anker asked nervously.

No one said anything for a few minutes as they deliberated the dilemma. It was Trygg who finally said what they had all been thinking, "We cannot keep you safe here."

Jareth nodded. He had hoped that they would come up with a solution that he had missed but it had been a futile hope. The underground was no place for a mortal.

"I know."

"Perhaps, Your Majesty might stay with your above subjects?" Trygg suggested.

Jareth nodded his head, "That had been my thought as well."

There was another silence as the Council contemplated the decision that meant that the King would be exiled from his own Kingdom.

"We best do it quickly then," Aksel eventually said.

At the incredulous looks he was getting he threw his hands up in the air, "Well, it is true. His Majesty is at risk every second he stays here. The last month has been dangerous enough as it is."

This was as much of a reproach for keeping things secret from his Council that Jareth was going to get.

"Trygg, escort His Majesty to his chambers so that he may get dressed. The rest of you, we'll head to the above connection room."

Jareth raised his eyebrow at the presumptuous order, but complied nonetheless. It was sensible, after all. Nevertheless he was going to have to have a talk with his Councillor about just who was King and who wasn't.

* * *

The journey up to his chambers was a quiet one. The halls were empty for the most part, and any guard they passed did their best to not look at the King; a stark reminder that the incident that had led to his reveal had only been a short while before. Jareth had the brief thought that his subjects might think he was fleeing out of shame, but he suppressed it. It did not matter what his subjects thought of the matter. It was the only option. Anyway, he trusted his council to set any rumours about him straight. He had to trust his council. With him gone, it would essentially be them who were running the Kingdom. Jareth, believe it or not was a rather hands on King and liked to be involved. It would be difficult to adjust. It would be hard enough to be kept informed, let alone involved. He just had to trust that his subjects could look after themselves for however long it took to get his magic back.

Trygg kept a solid hand on the King's arm as they walked. Unbeknownst to both of them it gave the impression to the guards that they passed that the King was being forcibly taken to his Chambers rather than going of his own free will. It was another reason that the guards avoided looking at the King. Their loyalty to Jareth meant that they thought that they ought to free him, yet their knowledge of Trygg's loyalty to him meant that they also trusted that if Trygg was dragging him somewhere it was for his own good. It was a dilemma but not one that they were willing to confront. So they deliberately did not look at Jareth so that they could pretend that they hadn't seen anything and so not have to do any hard thinking.

In reality, Trygg's reason for holding onto Jareth was much more benign. The castle was as much a part of the Labyrinth as the city and whilst nothing had happened to Jareth within its walls yet (apart from setting fire to the rooms, but Jareth had explained how that had happened), Trygg didn't want to take any chances. Being in contact with a magical being reduced any risks.

When they reached the Chambers it was to find that the only clothes out were the Ceremonial garb that he was to wear for the Ceremony. It was all together too fancy and impractical to wear on a trip to the above, yet Trygg forestalled Jareth's attempt to call for his grooms to fetch something else.

"There is no time," was all he said.

Jareth sighed ruefully and agreed.

"Call my grooms to assist me in putting this on then. It is impossible for a person to put on properly unaided," Jareth said as he slipped off the dressing robe and allowed it to fall to the floor.

Trygg shook his head, even as Jareth pulled on a pair of underpants. "I will aid you, My Liege. It will take too long to call them." Not to mention that he had seen them drunk on ale in one of the adjoining rooms and laughing heavily at Jareth's misfortune. Trygg did not want to subject his King to that.

Jareth shrugged, not at all caring if his Captain assisted him in such a personal task. It goes without saying that the Captain of the Guard had to be the King's most trusted subject. If Jareth couldn't trust him with his body, then he could hardly trust him with his life.

Yet, it niggled at Trygg's mind that Jareth hadn't trusted him, so whilst he was busy tying and clasping and pulling at various items of clothing he ventured to ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jareth froze with one hand on a button before resuming, "I don't know."

Trygg could tell that Jareth wanted to end the conversation but he was not going to allow that. "Why didn't you trust me?"

Jareth remained silent.

Trygg pulled very tightly on one string causing Jareth to let out a slight yelp.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," he said, not meaning the apology at all.

Jareth glared and Trygg smiled at him, with all his teeth showing. Jareth looked away first.

Trygg resumed his questioning, "You do know how dangerous it was for you this past month? Anything could have happened. Plenty of things did happen."

Jareth remained silent.

"Your Majesty?"

"I was embarrassed, Ok!" Jareth burst out, twisting out of his grip, before settling back down. Trygg paused and Jareth snapped "Resume your attendance on me, Captain."

Trygg did at once but he did not stay silent, "Your Majesty, there was no reason to feel shame or embarrassment. I am your Captain. It is my duty to protect both your dignity and your person."

Jareth stood stiffly but then he slowly exhaled, "I know that Trygg. But look at it from my perspective. You are my Captain, yes, but I have rarely needed your protection before. Suddenly though, I find that my magic is gone, and my strength is gone, and all I am is a weak mortal and your protection is all that I have to keep me safe. Can you blame me for clinging onto my pride?"

They had finished the dressing, and Jareth turned to look at Trygg. He was resplendent in all of his finery, and regal in bearing. There were just two things missing. Trygg hurried over and fetched them. One was a magnificent mantle of the darkest green which he draped across Jareth's shoulders, clasping it with a golden chain, with the Goblin King's symbol on it. The other item was a golden circlet, which he reached up and placed upon Jareth's brow.

He took a step back and looked at his King, who stood so tall, stately and tragic. His magic sang in acknowledgement of his bond and he felt a welling up of sympathy and love. On a whim he knelt before Jareth but did not bow his head. Instead he looked directly into Jareth's eyes.

"My Sovereign. I could never blame you for anything, yet I must argue with your analysis of yourself. You are magicless but you are not weak. Your strength is not gone for you have my loyalty and my strength at your disposal. You are much more than a mere mortal for you are a King, my Lord. Strength, honour and nobility run in your very blood. It is visible in everything that you are. Magic does not define that. Magic or mortal you are a King. Yet, you are more than that, for you are the Goblin King."

Jareth's shoulders seemed to straighten before his eyes, and a spark of life that had been absent appeared.

Knowing that his message had got through, Trygg slowly and reverently, bowed his head.


	10. A King Goes Above

AN: Alright, so here is the new chapter, and the first references of something Harry Potter related. I know I said it would be this chapter, but now I think it will either be next chapter or the one after it where the major crossover stuff starts happening. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't own the Labyrinth.

* * *

Jareth stared bemused at the flower pot, containing a strange blue powder that Aksel was holding out to him. Being a particularly powerful goblin, he typically had just waved his hand and appeared up above, normally taking several goblins along with him for the ride. He had never needed to take more conventional travel methods and so was understandably confused by the substance.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" he asked, after several minutes of awkward silence.

Aksel coughed and then explained, "It is a special version of floo powder, my liege. You just throw it into the fire, step in and say your destination, and it will take you above."

Jareth looked from the powder to the happily burning fire, and then rolled up his sleeve, and took a pinch of the powder.

"Is this enough?"

The old goblin nodded. Jareth took a determined breath, and threw it into the fire. The flames immediately turned blue. Jareth looked at the encouraging faces of his council, and tentatively put a hand in the flame.

He immediately pulled it out again, with a cry of pain, and began blowing on his fingers, tears being dragged down his face, much to his humiliation.

"What the...ow...oh, fu..."he stuttered, and cried whilst clutching his hand to his chest. The heat radiating from it was unbearable.

The other goblins stared in horror as they saw his hand blister and turn white. Meanwhile, Trygg went running out of the room to retrieve Nanne.

Nanne came in and gently but firmly pulled the hand away from him and began to examine it. Jareth had gone quite white, but other than that, he was doing his absolute best to appear unaffected. He was pretending that his initial outburst of pain hadn't happened.

Nanne tutted, and then pulled out a vial of thick, orange paste, which he massaged into Jareth's hand. As soon as the paste touched, he felt his hand begin to cool, and the tension around his jaw lessened as he relaxed. Then his hand was bandaged and Nanne left strict instructions for the bandage not to be removed for twenty-four hours.

In the mean time the council began discussing just why Jareth had burnt himself in the fire. They had never seen anything like it before, and couldn't quite understand why.

It was Trygg who stumbled across the answer. He let out a loud groan and would have buried his head in his hands if the rest of the council hadn't been looking.

"We are idiots," he said, and at their inquisitive looks, he said in exasperation, "Well we are! Floo powder needs magic to activate."

They shared guilty looks. They had forgotten about that.

"Well how is he going to go above then?" one goblin asked.

There was the dilemma. None of the goblins were powerful enough to take another up with them through their own magic, and the fireplaces were too small for any of them to escort Jareth. The fireplaces had been designed for one person, not for groups. They would have to find a particularly small race of goblins...oh no! There was only one race of goblins which was small enough.

This was why a short while later, after an extensive search to find someone who was not completely drunk, a small imp was led into the room.

Imps were rarely allowed in the above, and for very good reason. So the imp was given a stern telling off before he had even done anything and he was warned that if he misbehaved in any way he would be sent to the bog. This was slightly unfair, as it was simply impossible for an imp to not misbehave, but they hoped that a warning would curb any more outrageous impulses.

Still, the imp did seem eager and keen to help his King and was practically jumping up and down in excitement when he was told that Jareth would have to hold his hand through the transport. Imps were dumb, but they were also loyal and physical contact with the King was likely to make the imp's year.

They had to wait a short while for the imp to calm down and stop jumping up and down. It was only when Jareth himself began to glare and lecture that the imp stopped.

Jareth stood before the grate, and once again took a pinch of powder and threw it into the flame. Once again it turned blue and rose up to a height taller than Jareth. He took a deep breath and heard Trygg mutter, "You'll be fine."

He looked down at the smiling face of the imp, who was holding up one grubby, little hand. This was it. He was leaving his home. It was the only home he had ever known. He didn't know when he would next see it again.

He took another deep breath and took the imp's hand. With one last look behind him, he stepped into the flame.

* * *

Ludger had the misfortune to have quite possibly the worst job for the guards of Gringotts. He knew he was young, and inexperienced, but he was pretty sure that he was given this job because his boss hated him. Why else would he have been given the job of guarding the connection room to the underground? It was so boring! Nobody ever used it. Why would they? The underground goblins for the most part took little interest in the above and the Gringott goblins quite frankly preferred it that way. Those goblins which did have interaction with them were normally powerful enough to not need to use the floo to transport themselves at least.

This meant that he spent hours by himself doing nothing except trying not to fall asleep. On the rare occasion when someone did use the floo all he had to do was stamp a few papers, make sure that they were actually allowed above and that was it. Two minutes of interaction with another intelligent being and then back to monotony. It was worse than the job of guarding the front of the bank. Those goblins at least got to sneer and laugh at the ignorant wizards and witches. Ludger had hoped when he joined the guards that he would get to work with the dragons, but no! He was stuck doing nothing because his boss hated him.

Ludger slowly sank into his chair behind the desk that faced the fireplace and took out a pack of playing cards. Strictly speaking he should not have been playing cards and he should have been watching the fireplace, but nothing ever happened and he was not going to spend the next two hours of his life doing nothing.

He'd just turned over the seven of hearts when the fireplace burst into life. He dropped the card, and his mouth fell open and he positively gaped as out stumbled a figure he instinctively recognised. Even if the person was not wearing full regalia, he still would have recognised him. His blood practically sang with awareness.

Seconds later the King was kneeling next to a rubbish bin and throwing up, even as the fireplace flashed blue again and the Captain of the Guard stepped out.

Ludger watched, frozen to his chair as Trygg hurried over to the King's side and began rubbing his back in gentle circles. Then when he was finished his heaving, he aided Jareth over to a seat by the wall murmuring, "There, have a seat, Your Majesty. You need to take it easy in your delicate condition."

Jareth sneered at Trygg, as even more high ranking goblins stepped out of the floo and said, "I am not pregnant."

Trygg did look abashed and started apologising for implying that he was, and that he did not mean to offend and was just looking out for his health. Jareth rolled his eyes and with the colour already returning he looked keenly around the room. His eyes settled on the gaping Ludger. He raised an eyebrow.

Ludger suddenly realised that he was still sitting down, and abruptly stood up, stepped around the table (had a brief moment of wondering whether he should salute like a soldier or not) and knelt.

After getting over the dizzying effects of floo powder, Jareth was very interested in the new location. He had never been to Gringotts before; for all that it was a great source of his own wealth. It was nice he decided. Marble walls, and floor, bloody paintings and tapestries, and runes carved into the very walls, making it all seem nice and safe. Jareth approved immediately.

He looked at the goblin kneeling on the floor, and then got up. Immediately he felt Trygg's arm at his elbow and he sneered down at him. Trygg had not let him go since he found out about his state and already he felt crowded. He was not an invalid, and he didn't like being treated like one.

He shook off the hand and stood up to his full height. Trygg got the hint and took a step back.

"You on the floor, what is your name?"

Ludger looked up and almost began to hyperventilate when he realised that the King was addressing him.

"Ludger, Your Majesty."

Jareth was already walking around to the other side of the desk, where the entrance into Gringotts proper was.

"I'd like to see the head of the above goblins... oh, what is his name again?"

"Ragnarok," Ludger supplied.

"Right, right. Ragnarok. I suppose you know how to get there?"

"Yes I do, Your Majesty," Ludger agreed.

Jareth stood paused by the door, and he raised an eyebrow. Ludger took a moment to realise what he was supposed to do, and hurriedly got to his feet, blushing profusely.

"I'll just show you how to get there, shall I?" he asked, with a bow.

Jareth grinned mockingly, "I suppose that would make sense."

Ludger bowed again, hurried past Jareth to open the door. Bowed again, and held it open as his King and the Council headed into Gringotts.

As the door closed behind them, he caught sight of Trygg sneering at the cards left on the table. He gulped.


	11. War? What War?

AN: Thank you very much to everyone who has read (and reviewed) so far. Hopefully, you will enjoy this next chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth. I don't own Harry Potter either.

* * *

Unlike the main hall of Gringotts, and even many of its private rooms, the back halls could not be called in any way ostentatious. Instead they were highly practical, yet with its own beauty, one which was created by the swirls of patterns from the runes engraved into the walls. They were narrow, with many alcoves, side paths and rooms which might lead to nowhere or everywhere if you knew which path to take. Its layout had quite clearly being mirrored on his Labyrinth which was quite reassuring.

More reassuring was the sudden halting of the many goblins at his approach, their hurried kneeling and their gobsmacked surprise at his presence in their bank. Jareth couldn't stop the smirk that spread across his face at their reaction, as he followed Ludger past them all, flanked by Trygg and the rest of his council.

He was so caught up in his curiosity that he did not even notice when the imp, trailing behind the group was distracted by something shiny and fell behind. No one else noticed because moments later, there was the sound of booted feet running. From round the corner emerged a pointy faced goblin, who with his small retinue of followers and the manner of his dress could only be Ragnarok. Ragnarok came to a complete halt, taking a moment to take in Jareth (and make sure that, yes, the rumours were true and the Goblin King was really in his bank) and then fell to his knees, the others falling behind him.

"The Goblins of Gringotts, most humbly welcome Your Majesty to your nation above. We say long live Your Majesty, and forever may you rule. May your riches never cease, may your might never falter, and may your enemies always suffer. So say I, Ragnarok, your servant," he said in an elaborate yet official greeting.

Jareth felt his lips curl into a snarl, but secretly loved all the attention that was afforded to him. He searched his mind for the traditional response, couldn't find it and decided it really didn't matter much anyway. Given the situation, it likely enough wouldn't have been appropriate

He cleared his throat and simply said, "I thank you for your welcome, my Lord Ragnarok, and say to you and your fellows, stand and be at ease. We have business to attend to, and I would not have the Labyrinth be wholly unattended to for long." He gestured to the rest of the council.

Ragnarok nodded and got to his feet, his knees creaking audibly as he did so, but he did not wince. Ragnarok was a very proud and powerful goblin. He needed to be, for with Jareth's disinterest in the world above, the rule of the goblins of Gringotts was his alone.

After much bowing and scraping, and Ludger being sent back to his post, but not without receiving a lecture from Trygg, the group went into Ragnarok's conference room. The room was dominated by a huge, rectangular table. The head of the table would normally be where Ragnarok sat, but naturally he vacated that chair for Jareth.

Jareth moved to sit in it but noticed a problem immediately. The goblins of Gringotts whilst not the smallest race of goblins were by no means 'man size', and the chair that was at the head of the table had been tailored to fit Ragnarok. Jareth quite simply wouldn't fit in the chair.

He turned to say quietly to Trygg though naturally the whole table heard, "Can you fix this chair for me?"

Trygg looked at the chair and immediately understood the problem. Unfortunately, goblin magic did have its limitations and one of those limitations was not being able to expand something's size. Well, that wasn't strictly true. They could _stretch _things as it were, but that would also thin the item in question. If Trygg expanded the chair it would weaken it to the point where it wouldn't be able to hold Jareth's weight. Jareth had not been aware of these limitations because when he had magic there was very little indeed that he wasn't capable of. It simply never occurred to him that others might not have the same ease with magic as he did.

The goblins of Gringotts had looked confused at the question but didn't say anything as Trygg sent a page to retrieve a chair for Jareth, although they did wonder why Jareth just didn't do something about it himself.

They didn't have to wonder long, as after a chair was retrieved and they were all sitting, Jareth got straight to the purpose of him being there.

When he was finished, the goblins of Gringotts stared uneasily around each other, before Ragnarok finally broke the silence, "Your Majesty, honoured as we are by your wish to spend time with us, there are things about the current state of the world that you are unaware of."

Jareth raised an eyebrow. Unaware? He took a disinterest true, but if there was something seriously the matter, he trusted that his goblins would have informed him.

Ragnarok knew that he should not have kept the wizarding war secret from His Majesty but he hadn't wanted to lose the freedom that he had in the above, not to mention the huge amounts of wealth that the bank generated for the Goblin Nation even with the war going on. He hadn't wanted to risk being recalled to the underground. He knew now that it was a mistake.

Jareth listened carefully as Ragnarok explained that several years before a dark wizard so powerful that even the goblins feared saying his name (but Jareth insisted on hearing it, much to the others horror) had risen, and started a reign of terror against all those who were not of pureblood. Until recently the Dark Lord had being trying to recruit goblins to his side as allies, but Ragnarok had not wanted to break their vaunted neutrality, not to mention that he was weary of trusting his promises. However recently his demands had changed and he had given an ultimatum. He ordered them to give him fealty as King over them or be destroyed as the filth they were.

"Why was I not informed of this?" Jareth asked with false mildness. Everyone could see that his fingers were clenched on his armrests so tightly that they had turned white. They all knew that when the King was ranting and raving that typically they would all be fine and it was just steam, but when he grew calm, that was when he was most dangerous.

Ragnarok was thankfully discerning enough to realise that the anger was not directed at him, but rather at the wizard who had been foolish enough to try and usurp his title. He answered honestly enough, "His demands only changed a matter of weeks ago. Before then, we thought he would not dare attack the Goblin Nation. Afterwards, well we had heard rumours of, um, strange happenings in the Underground."

Jareth rubbed the bridge of his nose, recognising what Ragnarok was alluding to with strange happenings in the underground. Once again his determination to keep his weakness quiet was coming back to haunt him.

"If I had only known about this a couple of months ago, I could have done something about it," he said bitterly and his council shared weary glances.

Jareth looked up at his council, "What are you planning on doing about it?"

Ragnarok sighed, "I do not know. I have called the Goblins of Gringotts to muster, but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is winning and it is only a matter of time before the Ministry of Magic falls."

Jareth got up and began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back as he marched up and down the room in deep thought. Eventually, he threw himself back into his chair with a sigh.

He gathered himself, "Muster the goblins to be sure and hold them in reserve of an attack, but if the Ministry does fall, retreat back into the Labyrinth. I do not want any Goblin to needlessly die, and no man has ever found the Labyrinth without being led there."

"What about you, Your Majesty?"

There was only one option left to him. He didn't have the luxury of retreating to the Labyrinth.

"I will have to hide in the human world – the muggle world."

There was an outpouring of shouts in protest and Jareth slammed his hand on the table in anger, "I have no choice!"

There was a few deep breaths taken around the table and then Aksel said, "You are right, Your Majesty, but none of us like the idea of you being separate from your own kind."

"Not completely separate," Trygg interposed, "I will have a contingent of guards with him at all times."

Jareth shook his head, "Magic attracts magic, and if this Voldemort," he paused for the flinches, "character is as powerful as you say then no doubt that he would be able to track a group of Goblins in the muggle world."

Trygg growled, "You are not going alone."

Jareth leant back in his chair and stared haughtily, "I will be safer alone."

"There are many dangers in this world, Your Majesty," Aksel pointed out and Trygg sent him a triumphant look.

Jareth sighed, "Don't you understand that secrecy will be required. I cannot have a company of guards as that would lead us all to our deaths."

Trygg glared and began to respond when Ragnarok said contemplatively, "Perhaps, just one guard."

Jareth considered it, "One goblin might be able to slip beneath his or anyone else's notice, provided he is careful."

Trygg glared and was about to respond angrily when Aksel caught his eye. He felt his protests leave him. He did not like it, but he realised that was going to be the closest he would get to get his way and Jareth was right

Still, if there was only going to be one guard then it was going to be someone who he could damn well trust, and there wasn't quite anyone that he trusted as much as himself.

"Then I will be going with you!"

Jareth shook his head, "You are my Captain. I will need you to lead the armies if Voldemort does attack."

Trygg folded his arm stubbornly, "No, others can lead the armies well enough, but I don't trust any of the others to look after you as well as me."

"Not even Sir Didymus?" he asked with a wry grin.

"Sir Didymus is loyal enough, but he hasn't got a smart bone in his body."

Jareth opened his mouth to respond, but Aksel also caught his eye. With a sigh and a nod of his head, he relented.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Jareth called for the person to enter, and in came a goblin, covered in dirt, and smelling suspiciously of dragon dung. Held firmly in his arm was the imp that had transported Jareth above, wearing the cheekiest possible expression on his idiot face.

If it wasn't so undignified, Jareth would have started banging his head on the table then and there. As it was he couldn't quite hold in the loud groan of dismay.


	12. Five Years Pass So Quickly

AN: Yeah, so this one isn't my normal humour and actually encompasses a huge frame of time. Still, it was necessary to move the story along so I hope you still enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth and I make no money out of this.

* * *

After sorting out the mischievous imp and sending him back to the underground to have a rightly earned punishment (no chicken racing for a week) they began planning for Jareth's leaving. The goblins' had a wardrobe made for him, his normal attire being entirely unsuitable for time in the muggle world, unless he was in a play or was a student (Students always being the type of people who enjoy fancy dress). They set up accounts in various banks, forms of ID so he could do business in the muggle world if he wished and set up a mortgage on a house. They then spent two days giving Jareth a crash course on muggle life. Jareth knew enough about the muggle world for his occasional visits but not nearly enough to actually live there.

Then he left. There was a lot of fanfare of course and many assurances that he would be back before he knew it. Jareth just sneered at them. He didn't need such mindless platitudes. He needed his magic!

They settled in the house for the first year, getting the occasional report from goblins but mostly just getting used to the other's presence. Jareth got annoyed by the complete lack of privacy and the close quarters that he was forced to live in. Trygg got annoyed by Jareth's foul mood. It was even more annoying for Jareth because he literally had nothing to do. He couldn't remember the last time when he had nothing to do. At the beginning he had thought he could just carry on with his work as normal and daily reports were dropped in for him to read and keep on top of. Increasingly though he realised that he couldn't accurately assess the situations in which he was being called to judge. So more and more of the work was being loaded onto the Council until there was very little left for him to do at all. There was only so often he could play exploding snap, especially since the cards exploded in his hands every time without fail. Jareth suspected it had something to do with his lack of magic.

Trygg in comparison was kept very busy with checking security concerns and guarding Jareth. Jareth had for a time tried to get involved in this just because he was so bored. Trygg did not outright state it but made it clear nonetheless that in doing so Jareth was just getting in the way.

Jareth sank into a sort of depression. He spent the days slothing on the couch, not even bothering to get dressed, watching soaps and pigging out on fast food which he had quickly discovered the joys of. In the evening he went out and got completely wasted until Trygg dragged his sorry arse back home to sober up. Then the process repeated itself.

Trygg was at his wits end trying to deal with him. It all came to a head one day when Jareth had not even bothered to get up when Ragnarok and Aksel turned up to apprise him on the situation of the war with Voldemort.

He blew up at the King accusing him of not caring about his subjects who would happily die for him. Jareth sneered and swore at him calling him a sorry excuse for a goblin.

Trygg grew red in the face and said, "I am the only thing that has kept you alive for the past two months as you've drunk yourself into a stupor every night. I've watched your back as you have been too insensible to even know where you are. If it were not for me you would have woken up in a ditch some morning without even the clothes on your back, in a pool of your own vomit and waste, which I must remind you I have been cleaning up. You have grown fat in your needless self-destructive habits. You are not acting like a King but like a bum off the streets!"

He stopped, huffing and puffing in rage, his hands clenching and unclenching as he struggled to contain himself. In front of him, sitting on the couch, Jareth had paled, and behind him Ragnarok and Aksel stood in open mouthed shock at his outburst. For a few seconds all was silent except for the mindless noise of the TV.

Then Jareth slowly stood up and Trygg suddenly realised who he had being addressing but Jareth didn't say anything to him. Instead, he brushed the crumbs off his pyjama bottoms and walked to the side of the room where there was a full length mirror.

He stood examining himself for a minute. He took in the greasy hair that clung to his face and neck. He noticed the redness of his eyes and the bags under them which showed up more due to the paleness of the skin. He noticed that said skin was covered in spots from all the rubbish he had been eating. His eyes travelled downwards. His once athletic form now rolled over his pyjama bottoms. His stomach protruded noticeably. His eyes finished his examination when he noticed that his pyjama bottoms which had been tailored to fit were tight across his arse and legs, pulling uncomfortably.

Abruptly he turned around, not able to bare the sight of his form when it was so reduced. There was an awkward silence everyone waiting for Jareth to say something.

He looked up, then looked at the floor again, acutely embarrassed about his state.

"I – I will just go and get dressed. If you will excuse me."

He hurried out of the room.

That was the turning point. A few days later Jareth came downstairs and announced to Trygg that he had found a gym that he would like to join. Trygg said that he would arrange it and from then on, Jareth spent the afternoons gaining back the shape that he had lost. He also found a riding club and fencing. He joined them. Horse riding is the same in any place even if the horse is magical and Jareth enjoyed the familiarity of the sport. The fencing was much more tame then he was used to (he was used to fighting with the aim to hurt) but it was still fun, and something that he was good at.

With such activities to keep him occupied things settled down. Being able to get out of the house meant that Jareth did not feel so confined and that eased the remainder of the depression which had not gone with him being kept occupied.

Evenings were spent with Trygg apprising him of his Kingdom and assuring him that Voldemort had not won the war and that the Goblins had not needed to retreat into the Labyrinth.

Then a few short months later news came. Trygg came running into Jareth's bedroom at two in the morning. Jareth woke with a start and glared, angry at being woken at so ungodly an hour. Trygg gave it no mind. Living with the King had slightly adjusted their relationship. After all, cleaning up another person's sick tends to reduce the level of awe surrounding them.

Instead he insisted that the King get up. He said that Gringotts had received news on a drastic change in the war and that Aksel and Ragnarok would be around in just a few minutes to apprise His Majesty of it. Jareth was immediately up. He threw a dressing gown on and hurried downstairs, making it just as the doorbell rang. He didn't wait for Trygg but threw it open, ushering them inside.

The news was grand. Voldemort was defeated, and defeated by a one year old baby boy.

"This means that you are free to leave the muggle world, Your Majesty and rejoin your people," Aksel said with a wide grin of relief. As head of the Council most of Jareth's responsibilities had fallen to him and he would be the first to admit that he was not quite equipped to deal with it all. He did an alright job but there was a reason that Jareth was the Goblin King and he wasn't.

Jareth meanwhile had been thinking for some time. There had been this growing sense of understanding. He thought – No, his instincts were telling him that he needed to be in the muggle world. Either way he knew that whatever he needed wasn't with the Goblins, however painful it was to admit that. With the Goblins he would be served, pitied and mollycoddled. He would be constantly busy and would not have the time to simply reflect. He knew that the lesson he needed to learn, whatever it was, could not be learnt in that sort of environment.

The argument at his announcement was huge, but he would not be gainsaid and in the end they knew that he was probably right.

The next few years were spent moving around. They would occasionally settle for a while, but eventually Jareth would get restless and they would move again. This continued on for five years until they moved to a new place. It was located in an area called Little Whinging and on a road called Privet Drive.


	13. A New Arrival

AN: Hi all, sorry for the late update. I will just assure people that whilst updates may be infrequent, I will not abandon this fic. Thanks for reading and Happy New Year. Cap ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth or Harry Potter.

* * *

Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number four Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were quite typical of their neighbourhood in that they didn't hold with any nonsense.

Privet Drive was a suburban street which took much pride in itself. The wives stayed at home and took care of their children, never more than three. The husbands worked in managerial positions and constantly boasted of their salary. They all went to church on a Sunday, just so they could be seen doing so, and if the weather was good, they would be in their gardens or washing their cars, whilst judging whose was the nicest. All in all, it was a peaceful, quiet place to live.

This quietness was disturbed on a Saturday afternoon when in the distance a roaring could be heard, getting louder and louder and louder. The residents of Privet Drive all peeked out of their windows just as a car went squealing around the corner and came to a sudden halt in front of the newly brought Number 7 Privet Drive.

Almost as one, the residents of Privet Drive let out a surprised gasp.

It was a thing of beauty with a long nose, a grate in the shape of a pouting smile, an aluminium body, wide wheels, low racing suspension. It was sleek and silver, sporty, fun. Essentially, it was sex on wheels.

The Petrol Heads of the street almost instantly recognised the car and made a mental note to not wash their cars that afternoon when they normally did. It would be embarrassing for them to be shown on the same street as a Jaguar, lightweight E, a vintage car from the early sixties.

Of course, not everyone on the street was impressed. Vernon Dursley for one wasn't. Harry Potter could hear his conversation from the living room, where he was trying to be both small and invisible. He was failing.

"Who does that person think he is bringing such a noisy vehicle into our neighbourhood?" he blustered to Petunia, his moustache twitching angrily.

Petunia was too busy staring out the window. A very handsome man in clothing which didn't do anything to hide his looks had just stepped out of the car. He paused, as if waiting for something, and then leant negligently against the body of the vehicle, crossing his arms and gazing around the area disinterestedly. His eyes caught Petunia staring and he smirked at her. Petunia felt a warm heat spreading through her body and immediately stepped away from the curtain. She blushed and then tried peeking out again. He was looking in the other direction, but Petunia couldn't shake the feeling that not only was he aware of the attention he was getting, he was pleased with it.

"He is so young," she murmured.

Vernon stormed over, looked out of the window and then harrumphed, "I bet he's never worked a day in his life!"

Harry wished desperately that Vernon would just shut up. He wanted to see the car. He rather liked cars, and had his own small collection of toys that he'd pilfered when Dudley had thrown them away in a rage. Dudley didn't like toys unless they were very expensive and came with batteries. Harry didn't know why Dudley had thrown away the cars. After all, they occasionally made engine sounds and turned when they were about to hit the walls of his very small cupboard. Harry knew that if they did that, they had to be electric.

Vernon Dursley didn't approve of the man, but being the kind of person that he was, it didn't take long for him to work out the worth of him. After that, it took even less time for him to grab his best bottle of wine, smarten up a bit and gather the courage to go and suck up, or _introduce himself and his lovely wife!_

Luckily the man was still leaning against his car, so Harry used the opportunity to stop pretending that he didn't exist and go watch. The window was open so Harry thought that if he listened very hard, he might be able to hear the conversation, especially if Vernon lived up to his expectations and spoke like a trumpet.

He was in luck, because not only was Vernon easily heard, but the strange looking man could be heard as well. He wasn't shouting, but it seemed that he was used to speaking to large groups of people. Harry didn't know it, but Jareth was aware of the people watching him and so had decided to pitch his voice to carry. It would save him from having to make the same boring conversation again and again. Jareth had already decided, just by the utter normality of the neighbourhood, that he didn't like it, and wouldn't be staying there for long.

"I am Vernon Dursley," Vernon said by way of introduction, holding out his beefy hand, "and this is my wife Petunia."

Jareth looked disdainfully at the outstretched hand, and then, not wanting to alienate his new neighbours too quickly, he shook it, letting go almost as soon he had gripped. Vernon's hands were rather sweaty. Jareth surreptitiously wiped his hands on his trousers and turned his eyes on Petunia, the woman he had caught staring so brazenly.

She was openly admiring him again, so Jareth felt no qualms in returning the favour. He eyed her up and down, lips curling as Vernon tried to ignore his actions. The man had no shame. She couldn't be described as a handsome woman, although her figure wasn't bad and she clearly tried. Jareth's eyes lingered. He supposed she wouldn't be bad for a mistress; married, so no possibility of attachments, not a bad figure and he didn't have to ever look at her unfortunate face, especially if they did it in the dark. Although that, he supposed, would be rude, and he always did try and treat his liaisons respectfully. She probably wouldn't be adverse to a bit of fun either, especially with a husband, who by the size of him had probably not being able to get it up in years. His eyes flicked to Vernon who was determinedly talking, as if Jareth was not eyeing up his wife. Dislike coursed through his bones. The man had no honour, and no sense of chivalry, if he allowed his wife to be eyed by another man just because he appeared to be wealthy. His eyes turned back to Petunia. Yes, he would have her, he thought with dry amusement. It would be a nice revenge for both of them, and if he judged right, Vernon wouldn't ever say anything.

He gave a final, lingering look in Petunia's direction and then turned back to Vernon, who was inquiring in whether he was moving into the house. Jareth almost rolled his eyes. Wasn't it obvious?

"Yes, I am. I am waiting on my – friend – who is picking up the keys and organising the movement of furniture."

"Ah, a special friend is it?" Vernon said with a wink, a nudge and a boisterous laugh. Jareth tried to not let his disgust show.

"In a manner of speaking," Jareth said coldly, "I've known him all my life and he would not let me live alone when I decided to spend some time away from the family estate."

"Family estate?" Petunia asked curiously and Vernon greedily.

Jareth leant against the back of his car again and shrugged carelessly, "Well, Castle really. Being in the family for generations and it's very large. Very difficult to live in. I was half afraid that a Goblin might pop around a corner all the time." He grinned wickedly.

Vernon appeared uncomfortable at the mention of such unnatural a thing as Goblins and quickly changed the subject.

"Yes, err, well, understandable really. Well, what made you decide to move here?"

Jareth looked at Number 7. It was the corner house, and was much larger than the other houses on the street because of it. "It seemed nice enough, and it has the space for a good sized garage. I'll be able to do some repair work."

"You fix cars for a living?" Vernon asked in confusion.

Jareth allowed an amused smirk to cross his lips, "For a living? No. I collect cars. It is a bit of a hobby of mine. This baby is my newest acquisition. It is quite rare. I believe only a dozen were made, and it is really quite fun. What about you Dursley? What cars do you have?"

Vernon made a mental note to buy another car. "Well, nothing like this of course. I've got a son, and the boy – my nephew – to look after, and can't really get away with having a two-seater with a family about. You understand."

He slapped Jareth hard on the back, causing him to stumble a little. Jareth straightened and glared at Vernon, highly affronted. How dare he touch him like that! Of course, he was perfectly aware that without his magic, Jareth could not take Vernon in a fair fight. Vernon was much larger than him. However, Jareth never fought fair, and even if he did, he wasn't much for using brute force. He had more creative ways of dealing with people who annoyed him. He glanced quickly at Petunia. Yes, much more creative ways.

He was saved from conversation by the arrival of a delivery van and Trygg. As Vernon made his goodbyes and Jareth pressed a kiss to Petunia's hand, Harry ducked away from the curtain and ran back to his corner and back to pretending that he didn't exist.


End file.
